


Love at First Sight

by OverwatchingYouSleep



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Age Difference, Car Sex, F/M, Kidnapping, Love at First Sight, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scent Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/OverwatchingYouSleep
Summary: Reinhardt didn't pay much attention at first, until he noticed your smell.[Reinhardt / Female Reader, heed the tags!]





	Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Request piece from one of my favorites <3 I always enjoy writing this kind of stuff.
> 
> You can find more of my stuff @the-yandere-cryptid.tumblr.com

 

Big cities had always felt like a prison to Reinhardt. It wasn’t the people; he had no issue socializing in groups large or small. It was the concept of walls outdoors, buildings that dwarfed even him in every direction, rendering even the great open a fortress. The wind flowed through his hair freely on the battlefield, but here the apartment buildings and shops lightened the breeze to a mere tickle.

 

"What's wrong, Reinhardt?" Brigitte's voice dragged him from his reverie, pulling his eyes from the lines of stalls to look at his companion. 

 

"Ah, nothing to worry about!" he exclaimed, as he was prone to do with every word out of his mouth. "This is just a bit different from my usual pace."

 

She smiled in that caring way of hers, with the same sneer in her lip as her father. "Well, your usual pace is charging into danger. You should relax every now and again, old man."

 

"I'm not old!" But he knew he was, and for that he had a good laugh. True, a book convention was more his style than a concert or anything else a teenegar like Brid could have brought him to. And though he doubted they'd have any of his favorite authors here, the calm cheer of a book fair crowd soothed his soul. He had a feeling this recreational choice was more for his benefit than her own. 

 

But, he had to admit, they didn’t have anything like this in the small villages he preferred. The rows of stalls along the streets, though filled with literature instead of beer and pork, made the uniform city streets just a little more welcoming. Even if he did tower a foot above the rest of the crowd. He pulled to a stop alongside a bright green stall.

 

"They sell records here?" he questioned, voice lilted in surprise. Brid peeked around his massive body. 

 

"They sell a lot more than books here." He pulled himself out of the flow of the crowd with ease, hunching underneath the stalls tent. He began thumbing through titles with his massive fingers, oblivious to the stallowners distress at such massive hands near his records table. 

 

"Now there's a collection I can always add to!" He didn't have to look to know Brid was rolling her eyes. He had plenty of CDs for their van as they traveled, but at home his vinyl collection sat pitifully small in comparison. Next to nowhere carried them these days. He felt someone bump into his back, and so used to it for his size he slid out of the way without blinking.

 

"Pardon. Which do you think I should get, Brigitte?" He held two seperate albums up for her to inspect, flashing a brilliant white smile her way. She brought a finger to her chin, pondering, and in her second of hesitation, it hit Reinhardt. A scent, no, aroma would do it more justice, that set every nerve into a tizzy on the way through his nostrils. He glanced down to his side, where the person he had bumped into not a second before was staring up at him just the same.

 

"Oh." You covered your mouth, and Reinhardt felt the arrow pierce his heart then and there. Cupid practically had him in a headlock from the second he looked into your eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare, you're just...really tall."

 

"He gets that," Brid cut in, taking Reinhardt's attention as well. Oh hell, this girl was Brigittes age, he couldn't stare like that. But he didn't have to look to take in that scent, cucumber and freshly cut grass that untensed his old muscles with every inhale. Brid didn't seem to notice his strange behavior, or maybe she too was focused on the stranger.

 

"I bet," you said, turning and paying the stallkeeper for your single album. Reinhardt watched the whole interaction from the corner of his eye, your smile taking the arrow in his heart and giving it a firm tug. You tucked the record beneath your arm, two other bags from different stalls slung over your arm. With a small wave and a smile that Reinhardt strained not to get too eager about returning, you departed.

 

"Can't go wrong with the Rolling Stones." Reinhardt blinked, looking back at Brigitte, then following her gaze to his hand. He had forgotten he was still holding the records, two of them clutched in one huge hand. With a shake of his head, he slid the records back in the box and rubbed his hands together, searching for your head above the crowd. That quick, you were gone.

 

"Nevermind, Brigitte," he said, ignoring her confused stare and starting down the sidewalk once again. "Let's go."

 

"Umm, okay." He was thankful she didn't question him, because he wasn't sure if he had an answer. Your scent still lingered in his nose, every breath less pleasant than the last the longer he went without you near. He tried to clear his head of the stranger, but his thoughts seemed to practically gravitate around you.

 

He wished he had gotten your name.

 

They were approaching the market center, the top of the fountain poking out from a block away. Reinhardt wasn’t even looking at the stalls anymore. He knew already how he felt about the girl, but he knew that he wasn’t okay with it. She looked fresh out of college, too inexperienced with life for a grizzled old man like himself.

 

That didn’t change a thing though. He could still find himself chasing her to the ends of the Earth for one more sight of that face, one whiff of that heavenly aroma. 

 

No amount of moral dilemma was going to wipe that from his mind. He was not a man that wanted for much of anything, especially these days. His blood had long since forgotten what it was like to boil.

 

"Reinhardt?" Once again snapped out of a trance, he looked down at his companion. Surprisingly, Brid wasn't looking at him, but instead focused directly ahead of her. "Did you look at that girl?"

 

He felt his throat lock up. Shit, he had been too obvious. Well, there was no point in trying to lie to Brigitte, he had tried to cover his ass too much in the past. She could sniff right through him.

 

"I did," he said. The weight off his chest was massive.

 

"So you saw the bag she was carrying?" Reinhardt blinked, trying to call back the image of her in the shop. Hell, someone could hold a gun to his head and he wouldn't have been able to even name the color of what you carried. He was focused on much more interesting things, of course.

 

"No?" he said. The crowd broke into fragments in front of them, little crowds of people all circling around the fountain. Brigitte finally turned to him, her eyes alight. 

 

"They have a Tcharsky stand here!" she said, obviously elated. "I might be able to finish out my Engineer's Encyclopedia set!"

 

As the realization of Brid's ignorance hit him, Reinhardt released the breath trapped in his lungs, trying to put on a smile for her sake. Blood still rushed in his ears. 

 

"Maybe you should go and look for it," he suggested, clapping her on the shoulder. Her face fell. 

 

"Where are you going?" His knees felt weak, though not from old age. He took the few steps to the lip of the fountain and brought himself to sit on the edge. 

 

"I just need to rest these old legs for a bit." He waved his hand, trying to manage a relaxed smile. "Go have fun! You know I don't like to hold the youth back." Brid snorted, clapping Reinhardt in the same friendly fashion before sliding away.

 

"Don't go senile and wander off." With that sign off, Brid disappeared into the crowd. With her gone, Reinhardt scooped a handful of the fountain's crystal clear water and splashed it on his face, rubbing at his old skin until water dripped from the ends of his beard. 

 

He needed to get a hold of himself. Never the type to shy away from shamelessness, Reinhardt was amazed at how thinking of you made him feel. Like his heart was ready to explode out of his chest, that he had to sing it out to the world...and couldn't. He buried his face in his hands. Love at first sight was a beautiful thing, but it wasn't for people like him. Whoever you were, whatever you do, you deserve better than an old, washed-out mercenary. 

 

He spread his hands enough for his nose to poke through and inhaled, taking in the whirlwind of sensory stimulation around him. Many scents too indistinct to name, belonging to the dozens of passer-by. The distinctly mouth-watering scent of hot dogs grilling at a stall not too far from him. Normal, insignificant. Nothing like what he had just experienced. 

 

Why was he even thinking like this? He had gotten but 30 seconds of interaction with you at most, and it had been five minutes since. Yet already, his mind was filling mental images of you in his life, riding alongside him and Brigitte--well, maybe he would have to sneak by this town when Brigitte was home visiting family. But you and him, along the countryside together, resting at his home when the road grew weary. You'd curl up to him at night, cook with him in the morning, maybe even with a ring on your finger...

 

He groaned into his palms. This was going to wring his heart.

 

He looked up, wincing at the sunlight in his eyes. The square was a little less populated, the distant sound of music hinting at the reason why. If Brigitte heard that, she'd probably be headed that way as well. Maybe he'd have time to take a walk and settle his heart rate before his chest burst. 

 

He stood and moved in the opposite direction of the concert, weaving between the occasional passer-by in the opposite direction. Only a few people were walking in the same direction as him, and he figured if he kept walking, he'd hit a dead end. Hopefully he'd find a regular sidewalk and get around without having to fight crowds.

 

He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He was too old to be getting these schoolboy crushes, this burning infatuation that made him dizzy and weak. A serviceman of the UN should be above puppy love, for God sakes. He hoped he'd be able to get in the van at the end of the day and forget this entire ordeal had happened. He wanted to wipe your face from his mind, make things easier. He was so much less hot-headed than he was in his youth, he had to act like it.

 

At the end of the street, an electric gate protected the entrance to the parking lot, the payment booth just inside. Reinhardt certainly hadn't expected to wind up here, but decided to go ahead to the van anyways. He had music there, a comfortable chair where he could lay back and let his mind drift to other things. Not you. He wasn't going to dwell on you, let your face get burned into his mind permanently.

 

Although he feared that was already the case.

 

This entrance was different from the one he and Brid had come in from, so it took him a moment to get his bearings, using the signs screwed to lamp posts to guide him towards the other end of the parking lot. It was early enough that more people were coming in rather than out, cars passing by him and narrowly avoiding his massive frame. When he saw the overhead of his van peeking above the other cars in it's row, he beelined down the aisle.

 

He cracked his knuckles while he waited for the electronic key to do it's magic, the side door on the van opening with a satisfied beep. Rein was hit with the strong scent of oil and stirfry, and mixed with that, something else. Something green, like cucumbers and freshly cut grass. 

 

Then he heard your laugh.

 

He turned around, just barely able to peek over the minivan next to him. It was you--of course it was, he would know that scent anywhere--and you were coming his way. Your eyes were on your phone, laughter bubbling over your lips at something you were watching. Reinhardt hesitated to use the phrase "Heaven on Earth," but the pleasant tingle of his eardrums vibrating when he heard the sound was pretty damn close.

 

He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, biting down as he watched you get closer. Brigitte wasn't here. He could stare, right? It was still wrong, almost perverse of him, but so long as nobody saw it, he could allow himself this luxury. Just admiring your beauty. Listening to the sound of your voice, your giggle. You sent him over the moon with it. 

 

You glanced at him when you passed his slot between vehicles, your eyes locking on his. Something hit him then, an urge that hadn't so much as entered his mind before. But yet, all of the sudden it was urgent, a wrenching need that made his arms move before his brain could stop them. Before he could realize that he didn't really want to stop.

 

He yanked you in between vehicles, one massive hand covering your mouth while the other wrapped around your waist. His hand vibrated with your alarmed cries, swinging the bags on your arms wildly as you tried in vain to fight him. A pang of guilt went through his heart. Then, when he realized how much he enjoyed the sound of your voice even in distress, another pang.

 

He slung your body forward, the bags on your arms tumbling to the asphalt below. There was no graceful way to toss a struggling human in a van, but Reinhardt at least managed to prevent hurting you in his rush to hide you away before a car passed. Before someone walked by or worse, Brid came back. 

 

He froze, his body poised over yours from the doorway. What the fuck was he thinking? He couldn't believe his own actions, and even now, his hands wouldn't loosen their hold. You were going nowhere.

 

The doors began to close on him, the auto-locking system kicking into place, and Reinhardt pulled his legs inside the cabin of the van to let the doors close. Once the sunlight drowned out, the lights kicked on, casting your body in a dull glow. Slowly, that heavenly scent began to fill the interior, calming his pounding heart with every inhale. He had done it. There was no backing out of this, whatever he had gotten himself into.

 

Once you finally stopped kicking beneath him, he lifted his body and flipped you over. Your face, that gorgeous assemblage of the most captivating features he'd ever laid eyes on. Even with your modest lipstick smeared over your face and sweat dripping down your forehead, you were the essence of beauty. You were even so kind as to widen those pretty eyes when you looked at him, so he could better admire their color.

 

"What the fuck?" All of what he thought was anger melted, your face going pale in place of the red of exertion. Oh, he knew that look too well. The poor thing was afraid of him. "O-Oh my God, please let me go."

 

He didn't like hearing that. Reinhardt grabbed hold of his own chest, his heart squeezing inside of him. He didn't like hearing that one bit. He wanted to see your smile again, hear your laugh. You were just scared right now, that was all. He needed to prove he wouldn't hurt you. Then you would calm down, and he could get to...well, he hadn't really planned this at all. Brid was going to be furious.

 

"I won't tell anybody," you begged, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. "I promise, I just want to go home, please..."

 

Oh, how his heart ached. But you would see. He had it all pictured before him, the renovations to his modest farmhouse, the matching robes and towels, and perhaps, a ruby engagement ring to compliment the blush on your cheeks. Maybe you could come with him to pick it out. He would make you want to. 

 

"I...will take you home." You pressed your lips together, obviously not expecting that answer and not sure how to respond to it. Reinhardt brought his hand down to your cheek, wiping away the excess of lipstick that had smeared. You shook beneath him, eyes following his hand as he moved. He hated that you were afraid of him. This wouldn't do at all.

 

"You have a beautiful laugh," Reinhardt breathed, taking a lock of hair between his fingers and playfully tugging it. You tried to smile--at least it looked that way. It was more like a choked gurgle, your lips curled in.

 

"Thank you," you said. Well, at least you were calming down. That was a good sign. "I can take myself home, if you don't mind."

 

There it was again. That reminder that what he was doing was so horribly wrong. He was taking you--he didn't even know your name!--away from your home. You might have parents who worry, or friends who came to the festival with you. You might even have a boyfriend--

 

That thought made his teeth grind. That wouldn't be one he entertained. He didn't want to lose his temper. 

 

"I..." he started, leaning down to your face. You began to shake your head, pleading "no"s tumbling from your mouth as he approached. He stopped just shy of your lips, his forehead pressed to yours and his hand sliding behind your head to hold you still. "I  **do** mind, actually."

 

Your lips were every bit as sweet as he imagined them. You couldn't pull away, and the pure force of his presence pushed you into complying, your lips just barely ghosting his. Or maybe you were really kissing him back? Could it be possible?

 

He had to make sure. He pushed the kiss further, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth. You made a noise, and he liked to believe it was of pleasure. It did, after all, make his moan in turn, his cock twitching in his pants. He wasn't the kind of man to do this on a first date, but the circumstances were special. He had to show you why he had really taken you; to make you his. He wasn't some psychopathic kidnapper who wanted to keep you locked in a basement,after all!

 

He pulled away, taking a deep breath and looking you in the eyes. You looked nearly dead, eyes staring blankly through him, no emotion showing on your face. Or perhaps you didn't know how to feel. That was alright, he could change your mind. He was good at that. 

 

He pulled his body forward, his hips aligning with yours. It didn't take much for you to feel the outline of his cock on your thigh, and you started to hyperventilate at the feel of it. You clawed at him again, whimpering and going on with that begging of yours. It must be his size. He knew how intimidating it could be.

 

"Don't worry," he whispered, stroking your hair affectionately. He began to grind, slowly, and he could hear your sobbing intensify. "Yes, I'm a large man. I'll help you through it." 

 

Your shoulders were shaking. Right now, with his shirt muffling your voice, you almost sounded like you could be laughing again. He preferred that idea much more. The sound of your laughter made his heart once again swell with joy as he ripped your jeans down your legs. Then you had to shatter his daydream by screaming and beating his chest. But he had to have patience. His dreams would never come true if he didn't treat you like a Queen. 

 

"Spread your legs," he cooed instead, hooking a finger in your panties and tugging them down to your knees. He let go of you to push everything off of your legs, only your socks decorating your otherwise naked lower frame. You were struggling not to cover yourself, he could see it, and he appreciated your willingness. The less he had to fight you, the better it would feel! He dove between your legs, each hand gripping a generous portion of your inner thighs and spreading them wider. You sucked in a breath through your teeth.

 

"That's it," he encouraged, his tongue darting out and sliding up your nethers. Your legs were shaking, your fists hitting the floor on either side of yourself, but Reinhardt didn't worry about that. The van was outfitted with a ton of Brigitte's mods, including soundproofing, so his privacy wouldn't be invaded. That was a definite necessity. This moment needed to be special. Sacred, even. So he didn't spoil it by talking. 

 

He pressed his mouth against you eagerly, swirling his tongue around your budding clit. Your thighs struggled against his grip, whether to pull away or squeeze his head Reinhardt couldn't tell, and he could still hear your sobs, though quieter now.

 

Oh, if only you would sit back and enjoy this. He could do such better things with your body if you were receptive. Why did you shy away from him? He was doing everything to make you comfortable, he was trying to prepare you, to show you that he cared. It was as though none of that mattered. 

 

Or maybe it just wasn't enough. 

 

He rose from between your legs, your juices still fresh on his tongue.  In one fluid motion, he pulled himself over you and took your thighs with him, until your knees neared your shoulders, and your ankles were forced over his own shoulders. Now he could see your face, tears painting your rosy cheeks, lower lip wobbling as you regarded him. He hated that look. It had to change.

 

"Let me please you." It was Reinhardt begging now, sliding his hand over to yours and pulling apart the fist you'd created, his huge fingers intertwined with yours. The stretch was uncomfortable, but he wouldn't let you pull away. "I'll be so good to you, liebling."

 

"Please." Your voice only hastened the speed he took his zipper down with, yanking his jeans below his toned hips and taking his boxers down with it. He wanted to be naked--both of you, in fact. The passion of true lovemaking wasn't easily replaced, but he had spent enough time with foreplay. He wasn't sure what time limit he was on, and he had to make sure you came. He needed the feeling of you seizing around his cock, the sight of your face at your most vulnerable, your most euphoric. 

 

"Don't!" He would just treat you to a proper lovemaking session later. You would understand, certainly, the need for proper scenery and circumstances. He could make up some excuse for Brid to take him home. Now, how he was going to smuggle you, on the other hand...

 

"HELP ME!!" He clapped his hand over your mouth, startled. There was time to think about that later. Right now, he needed to placate you the best he could manage. He squeezed your hand, pressing his lips to your forehead as he forced his cock inside of you.

 

He might have underestimated the stretch a bit. He pushed in just a bit too eagerly for one thing, not expecting the resistance your tight walls would give him. The sound of your resulting scream into his hand sent a bullet through his arrow-ridden heart. 

 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, planting apologetic kisses along your forehead, twiddling his fingers in your twitching hand. He took his time pulling himself back out, the tip of his cock just barely touching your entrance. "I'll try again."

 

He felt bad, placing most of his weight on your hand, but he couldn't uncover your mouth. He couldn't trust you not to yell until someone heard, or more honestly, the sound of your screaming made the pit of guilt in his stomach grow deeper. He pushed inside you again, much slower, wishing the sounds coming out of your mouth even vaguely resembled pleasure. But maybe he was just too big a fit for you. 

 

He shushed you, planting more kisses over your forehead while he buried himself inside of you inch by inch. Your voice was starting to give out, but Reinhardt could still hear you, eyes closed and trying to drown you out. Cooking together. Wedding band. That same, godly scent.

 

He pushed himself in as deep as he could go, creating a bulge in your stomach, just below the hem of your shirt. You whimpered in your weak voice. He stroked your thumb with his own, a small comfort while he took a deep inhale of your hair. It had to be your shampoo. Tea and fresh fields, it radiated from your soft locks so heavily it drew Reinhardt in a trance. 

 

Slowly, both of his hands slid away from you, sliding to his forearms and improving his angle inside of you. Mouth free, you tried to scream. And as he’d hoped, nothing of substance came out. 

 

With much more control, he began to push into you, as harshly as your fragile insides would allow him to. He wanted to ravage you, let you feel the strength of his infatuation. It would come with time. Like everything else.   
  
God, you were so _ tight.  _ Not an uncommon problem for him, but you were just the right size for him, squeezing him without choking his cock. He wanted to cum inside of you so badly, but would it be proper? Should he wait until he had a ring on your finger before risking getting you pregnant?

 

Well, he’d certainly be married to you in 9 months anyways. He bet you’d be head over heels in less than a month.

 

And besides, you were so warm, so welcoming...

 

"I'm cumming," he whispered, and your gasp was all that he needed to reach his own climax. Warm seed spilled from the tip of his cock, burying himself in you deep to ensure it got inside your womb. You clapped your hand over your own mouth, face soaked with tears, but he didn't look at that. He just focused on the sound of your voice, your scent, the way you felt...

 

When he was finally done cumming inside of you, he pulled himself out with ease, his cock already softening. In his younger years, he could have gone all night. But even if he could bring himself to, he didn’t have the time.

 

Besides, he was much more concerned about making you cum, bringing his left hand down to your tender pussy and sliding his middle finger in your used hole. Your hips jumped off the floor and he followed them easily, curling his finger into your sweet spot and jerking you off viciously. 

 

"Cum for me." You didn't want to do anything on his command, but there was nothing you could do. He had your body seduced, your orgasm racking through you and making you shake on his hand. You hiccuped, your sore throat hurting you with every seize, and Reinhardt watched you writhe beneath him with equal parts pleasure and sadness. He had to give you better than this. It was the only way you would ever love him.

 

Did he love you? He looked at your shaking form, watched your exhausted, red-rimmed eyes finally fall closed. He thought of all the work he would have to put into hiding you away, into lying to Brid and getting you home. How he would have to block all the windows in his room and put stronger locks on the doors, so you didn’t run before he could convince you to be his. He took a deep inhale. The van reeked of sex. And you. 

 

He smiled, massaging your inner thigh with his thumb. This felt like love. He was in love with you. He wanted to lay here and fall asleep beside you. 

 

But he had get moving. You weren’t going to put on a gag and stuff yourself in a suitcase.  



End file.
